


Highbury Street

by MissViolet



Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 12:54:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissViolet/pseuds/MissViolet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erotic conversation between Bush and Hornblower leads to hot naval action. This story is an alternate ending to Lieutenant Hornblower, in which Hornblower invites his comrade-in-arms (and only friend in the world)  Lt. Bush to share his lodging in Highbury Street. The last chapter is filled with slashy innuendo, longing gazes, and heartfelt emotion. Due to various circumstances, the two men don't actually spend the night together, but I imagined what would happen if they did. The story takes place in the novel-verse, though I was inspired by the actors who played the characters in the A&E series - Ioan Gruffudd as Hornblower and Paul McGann as Bush.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Highbury Street

Mrs. Mason’s surcharge for the flimsy cot and paper-thin blanket was less than Bush would have paid at his usual lodgings above the tavern. To a sailor accustomed to the clean fresh spray of the sea, the room was dark and constrictive. But even if it had cost more than Bush’s usual lodgings, he would have paid gladly, for the little room had the added benefit of Hornblower in it.

They were to share a can of hot water – clearly Mrs. Mason wasn’t going to waste any coal heating additional water for the two of them. But Maria crept timidly upstairs with a second can, after the domineering landlady was safely out of the kitchen. Hornblower insisted Bush go first, so he removed his shirt and stripped down to his small clothes. He unrolled his “housewife” in which he kept soap, razor, comb, and toothbrush. With pitcher and washcloth he scrubbed his arms and torso, feeling slightly awkward as Hornblower watched him lave his under-arms with soapy water. He supposed it was payback for all those times he’d watched Hornblower under the deck pumps, droplets of sea-water glistening on his fine young body.

With great care, Bush poured the soapy water from the basin to the pitcher, poured the remaining hot water from the can to the basin, and then the soapy water back into the can. He began his rinse, wringing out the washcloth, mopping himself down. Normally he’d wash his nethers, too, but normally he did not do his ablutions with his fellow officer watching him with keen interest. Fortunately he’d had a penny bath the day before at the naval hospital, where such services were granted to officers on half-pay.

The cooling water was poured back into the can and Hornblower took his turn with the extra can. He was far more thorough than Bush, taking time to soap the dark, alluring thatch of hair between his legs, and actually standing in the wash basin to pour clean water over himself to rinse. He looked slightly ridiculous with his feet so close together, and a good deal of water splashed to the floor.

“They only give me one bath a week,” said Hornblower, “but Maria often brings me an extra can, and I can manage a bit of a splashdown, if I can borrow the wash-basin.” Bush knew Hornblower hated to be dirty. He remembered with fondness the young man’s showers at the deck pump, particularly after hot, sweaty labor. He had a sudden flashback of Hornblower disporting himself under the spray, the pump manned by grinning seamen, while Bush stood watching, a hot prickly feeling rising about his neck and throat, and his woolen lieutenant’s coat suddenly clingingly restrictive.

“It’s not as good as a deck shower, but a fair bit better than waiting till next week for a proper bath,” Hornblower said as he splashed himself. Bush remembered how unabashed he was at the pump, laughing and frolicking in the altogether, unconcerned that the men he commanded had a fine view of his bare body. He tried to busy himself with toweling and his night shirt and cleaning his teeth with cool water that Maria had thoughtfully left in a jar near a small finger-bowl. Anything to stop himself from dwelling on happier days on deck with droplets of sea-water clinging Hornblower’s slim, muscular body.

Hornblower finished his messy bath, mopping the floor as best he could with a bit of old sheeting. He shivered as he dried himself with a rough bit of toweling. The grating was cold; Bush knew that Hornblower could not afford a fire.

“Sorry about the chill. Maria brings me a hot brick some nights, but she couldn’t manage that and the extra hot water,” explained Hornblower. “Mrs. Mason keeps tabs on everything.”

“Oh, it’s quite comfortable,” Bush lied. In fact he was already shivering under the thin blanket on his cot, wondering if he should put his uniform jacket over his nightshirt, and how he could do so without making Hornblower even more apologetic. 

“Well, even if it’s too cold to sit up, let’s have a chat when we are tucked in,” said Hornblower, climbing into his bed. He had an extra quilt – Maria’s doing, no doubt. But it was a windy night and the room none too well-sealed. Cold drafts crept in through the window sill, next to which Bush’s cot was placed. Bush had slept in worse conditions; after the strain of battle and many missed nights of sleep, he had stretched out on the very gun-room floor, insensible with exhaustion, and asleep within seconds. But he was not exhausted; in fact, the lack of physical exercise kept him awake, for he was accustomed to being on his feet on deck for 15 hours a day. 

Hornblower got out of bed and used the damp sheeting and towels to block the draft from the window. “I’d move your cot away from the window, but...” he trailed off, shrugging as he looked around the tiny room, which offered no other space for the cot to be placed save near the window. 

“I’ve my boat cloak,” said Bush. He had brought it in case he could obtain a few days’ work with the ferrying pilots or some other harbour vessel, but every sailor on half-pay had that same idea, and the more experienced hands were in greater demand than the officers. Bush drew his boat cloak from his sea-bag. It was a fine garment, of boiled Melton wool in a rich navy blue, with brass buttons and gold cording. It was lined not with satin as typical, but with thick quilted cotton stuffed with wool batting, so it was exceptionally warm. He draped it over the thin blanket and was rather warmer, except his feet stuck out the end and were still frozen.

Bush could not sleep with cold feet. He cursed himself that his felt slippers were at home with his mother and sisters. He curled up as small as he possibly could, trying to tuck his feet under the cloak, but then it pulled off his shoulders and his head was cold. It was frustrating to be so vexed by a minor inconvenience, when he had worked at sea in soaking clothing, in gales in which dry clothing could not be had for weeks on end, and never felt half as cold as he did now.

“Let’s pool our resources, shall we? Bring your bedding and your cloak and yourself here. We shall be warmer if we share.” Bush was startled; he thought Hornblower had drifted off, but perhaps he could not with Bush’s tossing and turning. It was a sensible idea and he spread the thin blanket over Hornblower, then the cloak, and then finally brought his pillow and himself into Hornblower’s bed. He did not feel embarrassed as he lifted the bedding and climbed in beside Hornblower. As a ship’s boy he had shared a hammock with another boy; as a midshipman he’d had but 18 inches of rack space; a cot of his own behind a closed door was a privilege he had only enjoyed since reaching lieutenancy. 

Right away he felt warmer, with Hornblower’s body heat and the extra layers of blankets, and his feet even warmed up. “Now, about that chat,” said Hornblower. “What did you do in town today?”

“I picked up my pay and inquired about a posting, as I do every month. I went around to the harbour-master to inquire about work, even a few days’ posting to a pilot ship, but they prefer the seamen to the officers for that sort of work. I guess we are only good in times of war,” said Bush ruefully. “I supped at the Bull’s Head where I know one of the tavern girls; she’s a good sort, always slips me an extra bit of bread and makes sure my bowl of stew is topped off. Says it’s her patriotic duty,” Bush recalled, smiling fondly at the memory.

“Is she your girl?” asked Hornblower curiously. There was only an inch between them on the narrow bed, but at least they were both warm.

“I can’t afford a woman,” said Bush with regret. He did love to keep a girl and treat her to fine clothing and good meals whenever he was in port. In the past, when he was stationed on patrol for a particular harbour, he’d even kept a sweetheart in her own lodging, although he could never afford to keep a mistress in luxury, so his girl still had to take in piecework, but at least she’d had her own little place, and enough money to buy food and firewood and to have fresh eggs and butter for him when he returned home. He knew that some other fellow was “digging his potatoes” as they say, but he thought that was only fair, as he was not at home often enough to be a proper man to his lady, but she always had the decency to make herself wholly his whenever he was home. 

Of late his duties had kept him roving too far and in too many unpredictable places to have a girl-friend, and he missed it. Bush would have liked to be married. He had jolly times with the women of the many towns he visited, and especially if the French were routed at sea, the local women threw flowers in his path, they opened their wineskins, and at night there were never any shortage of pretty bedmates ready for a romp with a handsome young officer. At heart he craved a steady English girl to keep the home fires burning. 

“Do they always cost money?” asked Hornblower, rousing Bush from his thoughts. 

“In some way or another,” answered Bush. “Oh, it’s not the doxies. They are always available for a price, and many are good girls who just cannot find a living any other way. But even the respectable girls must be taken to the dances, or given a new bonnet or a bottle of scent now and then. It is hard for a sailor on half-pay to enjoy female company.”

“Do you miss women?” Hornblower asked. Bush realized with a start that Hornblower had probably never had a woman. Perhaps he’d kissed Maria; that seemed likely. And maybe he’d had a Spanish lass somehow, but certainly his questions seemed to indicate a decided lack of experience.

“Fortunately the girls of Portsmouth are patriots,” said Bush with a smile, thinking of his flame-haired tavern lass. “I have a special friend at the Bull’s Head, and since her father keeps the tavern, she can always find a spare room for us to steal an hour or two.”

“To lie together, you mean?” asked Hornblower. Bush again was struck with the naiveté of Hornblower’s questions. He knew that the lad had no brothers, that before going to sea, his only company was his elderly father, a country doctor, and a few of the village matrons who played whist with them. With the death of his mother, there would have been no one to explain the way of a man with a maid. 

“Yes, that is what men and women like to do,” said Bush. “Have you never?”

There was a long pause, and Bush figured Hornblower would decline to answer, but he did, in his own way, by asking, “What is it like?”

“Oh, it’s lovely,” answered Bush. To his surprise, he was not embarrassed. He hated the coarse language of men who had too much drink, or the bawdiness of the men of lower decks, but he welcomed this genteel erotic conversation with Hornblower. “My Gigi is a lush ginger lass, with a head of fiery curls and a sweet little flaming thatch.”

“Between her legs, you mean?” whispered Hornblower. Bush detected the barest hint of excitement in his voice.

“Yes, it is the most splendid part of woman’s body, save perhaps the breasts. Hers are so full and ripe, with pert little pink nipples. They are not too large, just enough to fit into my cupped palm. When we are alone together, I cannot resist them, although with women it’s always nice to start with a loving, tonguing kiss.” Bush felt his loins stir at the memory of his girl’s passionate kiss, of the way her eyes sparkled and her breath quickened as their kiss deepened. He had run his fingers through her thick mop of curls, and she had untied the ribbon that kept his hair in queue. 

“Then when the furnace is stoked, so to speak, and her bosom is heaving under her bodice, that’s when I unlace her and let her luscious breasts free,” he continued, without waiting for Hornblower to prompt him. “Women get very excited at that point, so accustomed they are to being laced; it’s like opening a flood-gate. I caressed my G’s bosom and kissed her heartily, and when she was panting, I kissed and licked her little pink nipples, which hardened like pebbles between my lips as she writhed in pleasure.”

“Is that the usual reaction?” asked Hornblower. Bush could hear that his breath was elevated, and he felt the waves of heat emanating from Hornblower’s body. At least they were keeping each other warm, and perhaps Bush’s tale had some utilitarian purpose, but feeling the pleasant glow and the familiar ache in his lower parts, Bush felt sure that Hornblower was equally affected. After all, Bush had been thoroughly tailed only a few hours ago, not once but several times, as the pub was closed while the men were laying fresh straw on the floor, so they’d had a few hours to satisfy their carnal urges. Hornblower had probably never tasted such delights.

“Oh, yes, women love when their bubbies are kissed and licked and sucked. It always gets them heated up. I teased Gigi’s darling breasts until I could feel her trembling underneath me. She has straddled my lap, you see, so I had easy access to her entire person. I removed her bodice so all was loose and free under her chemise, which I lifted to lay kisses on her adorable body, pausing now and then for a loving billing kiss on her mouth, until I finally reached below her skirts and felt her delicious cunny soaking her drawers with its juices.” Bush paused in his recollection. His cock was slowly stiffening, his heartbeat was decidedly elevated, and next to him, Hornblower stirred and sighed. No doubt he was equally affected. Well, what was the harm? Many a night Bush and his bed-mate had satisfied each other under the cover of darkness, even as a ship’s boy, for it was accepted that boys would frig themselves and no one much cared whether they frigged each other. Bush had never imagined that things would proceed in that direction with his handsome friend, but he realized with a start that he wanted Hornblower more than even his red-haired lass. Was it Hornblower’s innocence and the pleasure of corrupting him? No, Bush had never fancied the virgin girls, and frowned upon officers who paid a high price for them. He liked saucy women with some experience, and was never attracted to boys, but he often fantasized about courageous fellow officers. In his mind he saw Hornblower with cutlass in hand, swinging down onto the deck where Bush lay defeated and dying, recapturing the ship with the kind of courage that had already become a legend.

“It eases the passage, then?” Hornblower asked eagerly. Bush was so lost in his reverie that he momentarily forgot the progression of his tale.

“Oh, yes, if a woman is ready for you, her love’s tribute will flow freely. I like to push a finger inside, just to make sure, and because it gives them many thrills. Gigi squirmed about, gasping and panting, begging me to do it properly, but I alternated my plunging finger with rubbing the little cherry nub between her legs to give her greater pleasure. It is the seat of woman’s delight,” he explained, certain that Hornblower had no clue about women’s passions, given that most of the men he knew, despite their sexual activity, were ignorant as to pleasing women. “It can fetch them altogether with no other action, but we were too hot to play long at that game, and Gigi soon cast off her drawers and mounted me properly in the fashion we call ‘riding a St. George.’”

“Fucking, you mean?” asked Hornblower breathlessly. His uttering the vulgar word sent a thrill through Bush’s frame. The shy, proud young man, always courteous and proper, lying an inch away from Bush, talking of wet cunts and fucking, with his cock doubtless pointing stiff and proud, the heat from his body palpable, making no attempt to hide his panting breath. Bush stifled a groan.

“Yes, we had a jolly good fuck. The darling girl began to bound up and down, riding me like a jockey at steeple-chase, squealing with joy. I was helpless and could do nothing but gasp and groan and cling to her with open-mouthed kisses. Oh, if you could feel the glide of a hot little cunny sliding down your stiff pole, engulfing you, squeezing your throbbing prick with delightful pressure!”

Bush paused, feeling the heat of Hornblower’s body, hearing the unabashed panting of his bed-mate. It was all he could do not to spring upon Hornblower, rip the night-shirt from his flushed body, and lay kisses all over his breast. He would find his cock proudly unhooded and straining eagerly towards his hot lips which would enclose it, sucking and licking…..

“Oh, we must find a way to get you a girl!” said Bush, still delicately avoiding the topic of Hornblower’s virginity. 

“Tell me what happened next!” Hornblower demanded, with an imperious urgency that Bush found irresistible. 

“I gripped and moulded her lovely bottom, pulling her closer, trying to jam my aching cock deeper into her hot, wet quim. My sweet lass was not a minute upon me before she rode herself into ecstasy, bounding faster and faster, her delightful cunny gripping and squeezing my throbbing tool, until I felt her innards tighten so hard it took my breath away. Her arse began to tremble, she moaned long and low, and then, with a loud shriek and tremendous gush that soaked my bollocks, she attained the peak of her pleasure, and rewarded me with exciting contractions that nature in her infinite wisdom designed to wring the spunk from my stones and shoot it deeply inside her womb.” At this, Hornblower exhaled, halfway between a sigh and a moan. Bush breathed heavily, feeling unable to restrain himself from gripping his throbbing shaft and letting the spend fly. But for all their bawdy talk, they were still just bed-mates, and he stilled his hand.

They were both quiet, each wrapped up in their erotic thoughts. Hornblower made no attempt to conceal his excitement, while Bush tried to calm himself thinking of a dreadful gale in which he’d had to works four hours at the pumps. His attempt at distraction was unsuccessful. He could only think of Hornblower panting beside him, and of Gigi shrieking as she bounded up and down on his overheated cock.

“Would you care to continue?” asked Hornblower, after several minutes during which they both breathed heavily and deeply.

“Oh, yes,” replied Bush. “That was just the beginning of a romp that lasted hours. After her little cunny creamed – it’s called ‘spending’ or ‘coming,’ you know - my cock was still hard as iron as if I had not attained my pleasure. I turned her around without dismounting, so her bottom was rubbing against my belly, and she continued her delightful ride, for women are stronger than men in this regard, and my G always comes at least three times, as she says that it has to last an entire month until my next visit.” Bush had doubts that he was Gigi’s only man, but he did not mind her bit of flattery, as she really was fond of him. 

“I kissed the back of her neck, grasped her soft breasts, and thrust my fingers down into her parsley bed, rubbing the nub between her legs to give her greater pleasure as she began slow, leisurely fucking motions. That is the one place you must always touch a woman, Hornblower, if you want the pleasure to be equal, or as I prefer, greater for the woman. And soon enough her cunt was squeezing and her honey flowing down again, soaking my balls, and her bounding increased as she rode eagerly towards her second thrilling spend. And this time I could not contain myself, and we almost wrecked the chair in our exertions, and with a shout from me, and a hard groan from her, we fetched each other, her pussy gripping me in its usual charming fashion, whereas my hot, tight balls drew up close to her cunt and my spunk flew out in several strong, pleasure-giving jets, while we writhed and moaned and our juices mingled in sweet connubial bliss.” Bush could not help it; his fist circled his cock, just at the base, cupping his balls, but still trying to stop himself from taking his cock fully in hand. 

“And that was the end?” asked Hornblower, the disappointment clear in his voice.

“Oh, no, we hadn’t even made it to the bed yet. That was just to cool our fires in preparation for a longer enjoyment. We cast off our clothes and lay down on the coverlet, for Gigi had to keep the sheets clean for a paying lodger. Then we explored all the delightful ways our bodies give pleasure to each other. I kissed her wrists, and her inner thigh, collarbone, and every sensitive point on her lovely body. She is just slightly plump, with a trim waist and wide comfortable hips. Her legs are particularly well-formed. I have already mentioned her breasts, which are without parallel. While I caressed and kissed her, she likewise returned the favor, pinching my nipples, kissing my neck, and grasping my worn-out tool, which was very slowly beginning to restore its vigor.”

“Men and women both have pleasure at their breasts, then?” asked Hornblower.

Bush could not resist. He leaned over and laid his hot hand on Hornblower’s chest. “Oh, yes, but it is better to show than to tell,” he exclaimed, and his fingers circled Hornblower’s left nipple, pinching slightly, relishing the gasps and the way Hornblower squirmed beneath the sheets. He thought perhaps that he was the first to lay a loving hand upon the shy young man, and the idea filled him with pride at being chosen, for if Hornblower’s teasing, eager questions weren’t an invitation, then Bush did not know what else to make of them. 

Bush took a moment to tease and pinch the other nipple, looking down at Hornblower’s finely sculpted lips as they parted on gasps and moans. “You see?” he whispered raggedly. “It is pleasure for both.”

“Oh, oh!” Hornblower moaned. “Please, finish your story.”

Bush did not interpret this as a request to stop, so he left his hand across Hornblower’s chest, and the inch between them had long since closed, so he could feel, in every atom of his body, the hot tension of his companion, the tightened muscles and trembling body. He continued.

“In bed we writhed around topsy-turvy, arsey-versey, until her sweet red thatch was so close to my mouth that I could not resist plunging my face between her legs, tickling her little nub with my lips, and pushing my tongue up her slippery avenue. So overheated with lust was I that I did not mind my own leavings, which in other situations would be distasteful, but in the heat of passion, no impediment to joy. She nothing loath, and pushed her darling quim into my mouth, thrusting her hips so as to urge me on. And somehow the dear girl maneuvered herself so that my stiffening tool was over her eager lips, and when I felt her tongue touch the throbbing head, I quite naturally and easily dropped my hips so that it found a safe haven between her loving lips. Thus we began what the French call soixant-neuf, that legendary pleasure which is perfect equanimity between men and women.” Or men and men, thought Bush, but he would hold off before explaining all that. 

“Ah, God, the pleasure of her tickling tongue, her sucking mouth, and how quickly my prick stiffened up again! She fingered my bollocks and I could not help but thrust, not wanting to hurt her mouth, but she kept a fist wrapped around the base of my cock to prevent that. Meanwhile I was sucking and nibbling at her little button, pausing to thrust my tongue up her womb, then return to lick and tease, and her own hips were going like pistons as my hot-blooded lass ramped up to her third luscious spend! Oh, Horatio,” Bush sighed, calling him by his given name, for they had come too far for anything else. Bush felt as overheated in his passion as he had when originally enacting the exciting scene he described. If anything his desire for the courageous young lieutenant was even keener than that for his good-natured Gigi. 

“Oh, do go on,” whispered Hornblower, his face flushed red, his eyes glittering in the darkness.

“As you can imagine, my sucking and licking and nibbling soon fetched her, and to increase her pleasure, I held her hips tightly pinned to the bed while I coaxed her sweet little cunt, until with a long wail of release her hot little box issued forth yet another gushing tribute. Her spend seemed to last forever, for that is the way with a randy-arsed woman who likes to come not twice but thrice or four times. Her thighs quivered, her little button danced beneath my tongue and she moaned in sweet torment, until finally her limbs were rigid and still. ‘Oh, William,’ she said, ‘how you do fetch me! And I hadn’t the presence of mind to minette you fully,’ she said sorrowfully, for my rigid prick had dropped from her lips when she began to spend. ‘Never mind, lay over me and we shall do it like mothers and fathers.”

“My word, but how you can fuck!” murmured Hornblower. “I had no idea it could last so long.”

“I am regarded as especially talented in that regard,” said Bush, pleased at the compliment. “No doubt that is why Gigi cares for me so, for I can never afford so much as a flower for her bonnet, but I make sure she is well-content in our frolics, and she is good to me.”

“And you to her,” said Hornblower. “Did you have yet another go-round?”

“Oh, yes, I lay over her, and her pussy was so moist with our mutual spendings that my hard prick slipped right in with the greatest of ease, and we began to fuck slowly in the normal fashion that is easiest and fastest for both men and women, and gives great pleasure to both. She was quite worn-out with all the delicious spends I had previously given her, and at first she just lay dreamily, barely moving her hips, while I thrust away with increasingly hardening cock. It is a curious pleasure when one has already spent a few times, for the prick feels sore at times, but then, as the motion increases, the pleasure is almost too great. When Gigi felt my shaft throb and stiffen even firmer than previously, she roused herself and heaved her bottom, meeting me as I began to pound her into the bed. ‘Oh, William, you darling man!’ she cried. ‘Oh, fuck me with your glorious tool!’”

“Do all women speak that way?” asked Hornblower. Bush was quite sure he had himself in hand, in just the same way Bush’s own hand gripped his deliciously hard cock. 

“Perhaps I embellished a bit, to make a more colourful story,” admitted Bush.

“For me?” asked Hornblower, pleased. In response, Bush leaned over and kissed his collarbone. When Hornblower didn’t pull away, he gently pressed their lips together and was pleased when Hornblower opened them. Ah, the first kiss, a deep, soul-stirring kiss, and it didn’t take long for Hornblower to learn the art of ‘tipping the velvet,’ or kissing with twining tongue. He gingerly placed his hands on the small of Bush’s back. 

“Yes, for you, darling boy!” gasped Bush, kissing in earnest. With a passionate groan he untied the riband that held Hornblower’s hair in queue, and ran his fingers through the rich curls. He could barely restrain himself from covering his bed-mate, from grinding their cocks together urgently, riding towards bliss, but he would let Hornblower make the first move towards release, as indeed he had started this whole thing with his eagerness to hear Bush’s randy tale. 

“Go on, then, tell me the rest,” Hornblower panted between kisses.

“Gigi and I did not hurry through our last and final spend, but I paced myself carefully, watching her flushed face, her trembling bosom, until I felt she was nearing the pinnacle of bliss. She began to urge me on violently, drumming her feet against my bottom, digging her nails into my back, which only increased my pleasure. ‘Oh, you hell-cat,’ I cried out affectionately. ‘You naughty little tart, I’ll give it to you now!’ All of which only made her more excited, and her overheated cunny began to throb and grip and milk me as she gasped and moaned out her pleasure. Through our chorus of groans and cries I heard her high-pitched squeal which always heralded her crisis, and I relaxed the muscles which help me to contain myself and make me such a long-lasting delight to women. She squeezed me so tight, I thought she’d suffocate me, and her legs clasped around my bottom and held me nearly motionless, so I could only fuck on with gentle heaving motions. ‘Oh, I’m coming, William, ah, ah, push harder, ahhh!’ she cried, and my balls tightened up, I rammed my prick like a steam-engine, and positively howled with ecstasy, while she shrieked out her bliss, and a gush from her overheated cunny fetched me, the boiling spunk spilled from my throbbing shaft, and we both spent furiously with moans of bliss. Oh, what a good hard fuck that was! If only Gigi were here right now!” Bush was so hard, he could not stop himself from stroking his overheated tool, not until Hornblower leaned in and took over for him.

“I am no Gigi, but I have the advantage of being here, now,” said Hornblower, as his hand closed around Bush’s cock. “May I please you?”

“Oh, my dear!” cried Bush, immediately regretting it, but it was a true measure of his feeling, and Hornblower did not pause, he just fit their lips together and engaged in another loving, open-mouthed kiss, which grew bawdier and more demanding as their pulses raced towards the inevitable conclusion. Bush pushed Hornblower’s hand away and lay on top of him, feeling for the first time the heat of his entire body, and their bare cocks slid together with a frisson that made them both gasp and tense in anticipation. 

“Let me show you all that men can do for each other,” he whispered, for he felt sure that Hornblower had no experience in this regard, either. “Feel that, my dear?” he asked, as he rocked his hips and their slippery cocks slid together. Hornblower answered him with a gasp. Bush bent low to kiss him again, insistently, robbing him of his breath, kissing ardently with tongue and teeth, and even dipping down to nip at his collarbone and the sensitive place where the neck meets the shoulder.

“May I call you William?” Hornblower groaned, writhing beneath him, thrusting his hips upward to meet Bush’s straining cock. 

“Of course, dearest,” he groaned, feeling the familiar ache in his balls that signified his impending release, but no, not yet. Not until he had the satisfaction of watching the handsome young lieutenant come undone. It didn’t take very long before Horatio’s kisses grew sloppy, his breathing erratic, and the little gasps at each slippery thrust of their pricks became lustful cries, and then Horatio groaned his name at every push. “William, William,” he cried out, “It feels so good, I shall spend, love, I shall die!” And he then stopped his thrusting, he circled Horatio’s prick with his hand, and feeling it throb under his fingertips, and knowing the crisis was imminent, he lowered his head, took the head of Horatio’s cock between his lips, and tickled the slit with his tongue.

“You devil!” Horatio cried out. He sucked and flicked his tongue right underneath the throbbing head, at the precise point where it was the most sensitive, and a thrill shot through Horatio. Never had he known such pleasure, such ecstasy as his dear friend’s clever tongue coaxing the spunk from his delighted prick. He wanted it to last and last, but he was too eager for his spend. He gripped Bush’s hair almost painfully, while his hips pistoned urgently to drive his aching prick deeper into the hot wet heat, the sucking, teasing mouth. Ah, it was too much, he would die of pleasure. “I’m spending,” he cried as his spunk jetted out into William’s eager lips. In the throes of ecstasy he was treated to William’s expert ministrations, as his lips teased and sucked the dripping head, his loving tongue lashed all the sensitive places, flicking underneath the slit, sucking and licking until Horatio groaned hard as his cock jetted once more and his body relaxed in the final throes of his release. 

William, of course, had the intense pleasure of seeing the officer he so admired come undone, a wet, boneless mass, with his face flushed red, his limbs utterly relaxed, and his softening prick curling into its nest of dark hair. Of course he was an inch from spending himself, so utterly was he moved by the enchanting sight of Horatio’s intense climax. It would only take a stroke or two of his hand, but Horatio pushed his arm aside and gripped him tightly. “Like so?” he asked, and all the shyness was gone. William nodded. It didn’t matter how he touched him; any touch at all would fetch him, and soon. He kneeled over Horatio’s body, helpless with pleasure as Horatio stroked him. He did not close his eyes, but looked down, taking pleasure in the sight of his friend in all his exhausted release. But he was too hot, too excited and achingly hard, and as much as he wanted it to last, it was only a few seconds before his arse and thighs tightened and with a lusty moan, he pleasure peaked. How good it felt as his friend stroked him, and he groaned ecstatically as his spend jetted out, soaking Horatio’s belly, again and again, until it was too much and he pushed his hand away, collapsing on top of him.

“I am afraid our washing-up was all in vain,” said William.

“Never mind, Maria will bring us more hot water tomorrow,” said Horatio. His arm was around William’s back; their legs luxuriously draped together. Horatio dozed, and William rested his lips on Horatio’s neck. The room now seemed warm and cozy, and neither noticed when the boat cloak slipped to the floor.


End file.
